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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399755">Pod</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall'>a_sparrows_fall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sex Toys, Unofficial Sequel, Whales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:01:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I've never seen one before," Steve says quietly, radiating a childlike wonder. "Not in person. I saw a dolphin just off Coney Island once, but... this is something else."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Set three years after the events of 'Straight on till Morning', Steve and Tony attend a special event, have a serious conversation, and, naturally, get it on. Come for the whales, stay for the Starfleet officers still very much in lust and love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pod</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts">Sineala</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692669">Straight on till Morning</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala">Sineala</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy New Year, everyone.</p><p>As much as I've marked this as for Sineala, to be very honest, this one is also very selfishly for me. This year has just been... a LOT, especially lately, and I just wanted to close it out by writing some comforting porn about characters—specific versions of characters—that I love a whole lot, and Sine has a nice posted transformative works policy, and *gestures at fic*.</p><p>Of course, I'm nearly incapable of writing just porn, so there's a bit of a plot as well. Also, whales.</p><p>It probably going without saying, but this is spoilery for 'Straight on till Morning' because it's a sequel.</p><p>I know Sineala was writing a proper official sequel as recently as 2018, so <strike>there's a really good chance this will become</strike> this is definitely very non-canon compliant, per Sine's comments below, but I'm totes fine with that. Consider this a sweet little Marvel "What if?", if you like.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grey blobs below the surface are getting bigger every second; the drone filming them a half a mile out must be zooming in for a better view. That, or they're surfacing. Dark shapes obscured by seawater dominate the screens in the viewing room.</p><p>Tony only looks away for a second, glancing at Steve. Blue-white light dances across the planes of his face, a refraction of the water all around them. His eyes are locked on the camera feed, just like everyone else in the room with them, his attention rapt.</p><p>Back on the monitor, the edges of the blobs sharpen and form ichthyoid outlines. After what seems like an eternity—probably about ten seconds in reality—a shimmer breaks the surface: a cloud of mist bursts from one massive blowhole, then a second, and a third smaller one.</p><p>A cheer goes up in the viewing room. Dr. Prentiss, standing closest to the panel of transparent aluminum, releases a held breath and laughs softly. Even Dr. Nu'val, the researcher and designated cetacean interpreter standing next to her, cracks the tiniest of smirks—pretty much the Vulcan equivalent of punching the air.</p><p>They came. The whales came back again.</p><p>For just a second, the atmosphere in the Point Blue Underwater Observation Center is electric: a moment of unadulterated joy.</p><p>Tony turns to Steve a second time, and he's looking back now. Smiles of relief (and, okay, plain adoration) are mirrored on one another's faces.</p><p>Joyful moments are like this are a bit less rare than maybe they once were, but there is still no one Tony would rather spend any of them with.</p><p>"I've never seen one before," Steve says quietly, radiating a childlike wonder. "Not in person. I saw a dolphin just off Coney Island once, but...this is something else."</p><p>Tony knows what he means. As much as the subjects of his own studies tend to be decidedly unbiological—physics and chemistry, the minutiae of matter / anti-matter reactions—there is something magical about being here.</p><p>The whole concept of a reunion started as part of an agreement worked out between Dr. Gillian Taylor, the 20th century marine biologist who travelled along with the humpbacks, a group of Federation officers, and the whales themselves shortly after their arrival in the 23rd century.</p><p>As sentient creatures, George and Gracie had every right to make their way to the open ocean after their interaction with the Probe; their reason for being transported in the first place had been fulfilled.</p><p>But even Dr. Taylor admitted that two—soon to be three, since Gracie was pregnant—individuals of a species did not a repopulation plan make, particularly if those individuals were left to their own devices. Some interaction, and possibly intervention, with the whales would be required if the goal was for their kind to flourish. Details could be worked out over time, but the first thing needed was buy-in from the whales: the ethics of animal husbandry got a lot less murky if informed consent could be obtained.</p><p>Fortunately, Captain Spock had already formed something of a bond with the animals, and began to liaise with them. He wasn't entirely able to make the concept of genetic diversity clear to them, but they agreed more whales was a good thing, and they were open to the idea of continued medical care.</p><p>Progress on the negotiations was made, and in the end, while the Federation would need more time to consider the prospect of cloning whales or otherwise adjusting their natural breeding practices, George and Gracie settled on some basic terms: they and their progeny were free to do as they pleased, but would return on a yearly basis to let a new team, headed up by prestigious marine biologist Dr. Namorita Prentiss, collect genetic material and provide treatment as needed.</p><p>Tony had learned all about it in some of the articles Steve had sent to his PADD during the weeks of recuperation after his heart replacement. It had been part of a steady literary diet of wholesome reading material Steve prepared for him: nothing that could get his heart rate up. That bit—Tony flushes as a racy memory stirs—came later.</p><p>But the subject of the whales kept surfacing again and again. Steve always seemed to mention them casually: how often they were spotted, how they were doing, where they were when the calf was born.</p><p>As the day of the first scheduled return approached, Steve suggested they go to the Bay Area for what was being dubbed 'Whale Week'.</p><p>Tony had looked up from his worktable, shoving aside a hologram schematic to look at Steve head on. "You're really got an interest in these whales, huh?" He bit his lip, squinted. "I just wouldn't have expected it, I guess."</p><p>Red bloomed in Steve's cheeks at being called out so directly. He paused a moment, then took a deep breath. "Well, it's just that... they're from out of time, too. They're from the twentieth century, and I—"</p><p>"—you want to make sure they're okay," Tony broke in, understanding dawning. "As okay as you are."</p><p>"Hopefully better. Or no, not better, but at least adjusting more smoothly. I had a couple rocky starts."</p><p>"But you're doing okay now, though, right?"</p><p>"Very okay," Steve reassured him with a kiss.</p><p>And that was that: the start of a tradition.</p><p>The first two years, they had simply stayed in town during the festivities, attended some parties, and tried to spot the whales from above on boat and low-flying hovercraft tours.</p><p>Not even any cachet they wielded as decorated Starfleet officers (and, in Steve's case, a bonafide living legend) had netted them access to one of the most coveted tickets on the planet: an invitation to the underwater viewing areas that were part of Dr. Prentiss' Farallon Islands research facility on the first day of the whales' return.</p><p>But as luck would have it, the third year was the charm. Their number got pulled in the lottery for attendance to the Reunion Ceremony. Both Steve and Tony were ecstatic.</p><p>Now the guests of honor are less than a mile out, and it's almost surreal, the idea that this thing that had grown in importance along with their relationship is actually happening.</p><p>Tony grabs two glasses of sparkling grape juice from what is probably a scientific workstation of some kind, covered with a table cloth for the occasion, and pulls Steve closer to one of the nearly half-meter thick panels of transparent aluminum, taking their spots for the big arrival.</p><p>"What's the little one's name?" Tony gestures at the massiveness of the ocean before them. "Little, relatively speaking."</p><p>"Sarah." Steve sips. "After Sarah Cooper. They kept the legendary comedians theme going, although twenty-first century this time."</p><p>Tony nods.  "Kind of neat that there's a whale that shares your mom's name."</p><p>For minutes, they say nothing, waiting and watching in peaceful silence, the occasional fish or loose twist of seaweed floating past the window.</p><p>There's a stir behind them, and Dr. Nu'val, now outfitted with an underwater breather to go with her wetsuit, is heading upstairs, preparing for her dive and communication session with the whales.</p><p>Tony chuckles softly. "It's kind of funny, if you think about it."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"That of all the people that can communicate with these creatures, it's Vulcans."</p><p>Steve raises an eyebrow, and Tony knows that must sound like an odd introduction. He's got nothing against Vulcans. "I'm sure they do an amazing job conveying facts and medical information. But I suspect there's something lost in the translation. I mean..." He points again to the sea, indicating the whales that are soon to arrive. "What do you think they're feeling?"</p><p>Steve pauses, thoughtful.</p><p>"Well, they've miraculously outlived everyone and everything they've known from their own time," he muses. "And you know someone who knows a little about what that feels like." The observation has a playfulness to it, the tone telegraphing to Tony that it's not meant in a melancholy way</p><p>"Touché," Tony concedes. "Still, I wonder about the pressure of it all. Does it bother them? Are they aware of it? I know they were already starting a family—a pod?—before they came here. But being the progenitors of a species seems... kind of intense."</p><p>"Pods are temporary social structures for humpbacks; compared to other whale pods, they're small and tend not to last long," Steve corrects. He then immediately ducks to take another swig of his grape juice, as if he's realized the combination of his excitement and eidetic memory have just made him look like the world's most athletic whale nerd.</p><p>In a night already full of huge smiles, Tony breaks into an even bigger one. His centuries old secretly illegal boyfriend is the cutest.</p><p>"Anyway, I can only imagine they try not to think about that part of it," Steve continues. "It's probably just nice to be alive and not have to worry about being held captive, or hunted."</p><p>Now that sentiment, Tony understands entirely.</p><p>The nightmares are all but gone now, and the therapist he started seeing last year has truly helped him more than he thought possible, but sometimes he still has to perform a little mental gymnastics to keep his mind eye's from winding through imaginary cave systems and seeing the glint of battery leads in the darkness. Especially at moments like this.</p><p>Steve's still caught up in his thoughts of the whales, it looks like. Good. Tony nods mildly and takes a deep breath. He's good at redirection. No need to bring the mood down. Not tonight.</p><p>"I'm sure you're right. And to be fair," Tony lets his smile turn wolfish, "it's a pretty good mission they've got: <em>in order to save your kind</em>," he intones with gravitas typically reserved for dictating to one's officer report log, "<em>you must get it on with your partner as much as possible.</em>"</p><p>Steve's head snaps sharply in Tony's direction, eyes flashing, looking deeper, bluer than usual. His voice drops in both pitch and volume. "Are those official orders, Commander?"</p><p>Tony's knees go weak. Thrumming in his chest, his heart kicks into a higher gear.</p><p>"You tell me, sir," he demurs, averting his gaze in faux shyness. "You're the ranking officer on deck."</p><p>Before Tony can take another breath, Steve has thrust himself into Tony's personal space, his cheek brushing Tony's own, a few centimeters at most separating the length of their bodies, all while his posture remains rigid, official. To anyone else watching, Steve is simply conveying some private information, when in fact, he's pushing all of Tony's buttons simultaneously and repeatedly in front of a room of strangers.</p><p>He's a horrible horrible man and Tony could not love him more.</p><p>"Oh, I'll tell you, Commander." Steve's whisper is rough, demanding. The sound sends shockwaves down Tony's spine. His underwear seems to have shrunk about two sizes. "You'll be very clear on what I want done."</p><p>And just like that, Steve takes a step back, sips the last of his drink, and coolly resumes looking out the aluminum panel as though the exchange never happened.</p><p>Tony just blinks at him, absolutely undone and totally speechless.</p><p>The sound of someone clearing their throat steals focus suddenly, saving him from struggling through a full reboot of his brain to try to come up with a retort.</p><p>"Dr. Prentiss!" Steve jovially greets the woman now standing next to them.</p><p>"Captain Rogers and Commander—" Dr. Prentiss looks to Tony, like his name is on the tip of her tongue.</p><p>"—Stark," he provides, pleased he's gotten to the point of remembering his name again. He extends a hand, settles into a smile. "But please, call me Tony."</p><p>"And Steve."</p><p>"Of course. I'm Nita," she introduces herself casually. "I didn't want to interrupt you, it looked like you were deep in conversation."</p><p>"We were just talking about mating behaviors," Steve explains. "Of the humpbacks."</p><p>"Fascinating stuff," Tony adds, willing his voice not to crack. (Augments really <em>are</em> all evil, he decides.)</p><p>"You've read up on the subject?" Dr. Prentiss looks thrilled.</p><p>"Oh, yes." Because of course, Steve has read up on it, remembers it all, and can hold a coherent conversation about it. Which in turn allows Tony to regain his composure in peace, all while watching Steve dazzle one of the earth's foremost marine biologists, armed with quotes from her own paper on male humpback mating displays and his hyperwatt smile. (Okay, maybe 'evil' was a strong word choice.)</p><p>As Steve holds court on "fluke markings" and "spyhopping" and a bunch of other terminology he doesn't really follow, Tony lets himself drop away mentally from the conversation and just takes Steve in.</p><p>His captain. His partner. His home.</p><p>It's been three years since Fury lured him out to San Francisco to show him pretty pictures of oversized nacelles, and subsequently introduced to him to the man he'd idolized his whole life in two different ways. The man who would save his life, break his heart, then save his life <em>and</em> his heart all at once. Three years, and the so-called "honeymoon period" of their relationship has showed no signs of stopping, or even slowing down.</p><p>Tony feels like he's learning something new about Steve every day they are together. How Steve's left eyebrow hitches up just a bit higher than his right when he's seated in the command chair on the bridge and something mission related hasn't gone to plan, but he doesn't want to jump to conclusions yet. How he takes his coffee (usually black, but occasionally with amounts of sugar that would stagger a normal human). The names of the old timey tunes he sometimes hums in the shower ("I'm Beginning to See the Light" by Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots is a particular favorite). What noises he makes when he's just about come. Tony's begun to memorize every morsel of information about Steve like... well, like Steve memorizes whale facts, and everything else.</p><p>Lower to the ground, near to the panels on the opposite side of the room, there's a rush of movement that grabs Tony's attention. For a second he thinks it might be whales, or Dr. Nu'val in the water, but he blinks and his eyes refocus in the half-light: it's definitely on this side of the transparent aluminum.</p><p>A little girl in a shiny purple-blue dress, blonde hair streaming behind her, gallops over to her guardian, taffeta and tresses swaying as she comes to an abrupt stop. She looks to be about eight, if Tony had to guess. In her arms, she holds a stuffed whale. Her parent, who looks like they might be part Andorian, scoops her up into their arms, giving her a better view at the water outside. They whisper something in the girl's ear—Tony doesn't have Steve's hearing, but from body language it's almost certainly a question, something like, "Are you excited?"—and she nods emphatically in return.</p><p>The Andorian whispers to her again and she stills, staring out the window, attention focusing on the water just beyond them. Something about her energy makes her seem a little older than her age: a kid clearly willing to stay up past her usual bedtime for the sake of science. Tony had been like that, too, though he hasn't had occasion to think about that time in his life for years now: reading his PADD under the blankets until just before dawn.</p><p>He looks back at Steve, still conversing with Nita—just how much is there to say about humping humpbacks, exactly?—and he supposes Steve was probably a very mature child, too, though for very different reasons. Steve's explained how he grew up sickly, how he lost his parents at young age. Having to fend for himself in Manhattan in the 1930s must have been... Tony's not even sure he has the vocabulary to understand it fully, let alone describe it.</p><p>Without warning, something warm blooms in Tony's chest as a thought occurs to him: what might it mean to Steve to be able to give a child what he never had? To raise a child free of all the burdens he had to carry: being sick, hungry, lonely, poor?</p><p>Tony hasn't considered it before. They haven't ever discussed the prospect of children. Surely Steve will bring it up at some point, even if it's just to say he's not interested in having them. Or does he want Tony to make the first move? Or if it's a no, then perhaps he thinks there's no point in the conversation. Maybe he thinks it wouldn't be healthy for Tony to have kids at all, an opinion Tony mostly agrees with. Maybe—</p><p>A sound suddenly cuts through the room. The notes of it—for a very loose definition of “notes”—arc and bend in pitch wildly, unmusical but somehow still beautiful. Long, low reverberant bass sounds, punctuated by high metallic squeaks and cries. The overall effect is alien, haunting.</p><p>It is, of course, the sound that saved their planet: whale song.</p><p>The gathered attendees all hush as the first wave of it comes loud and clear over the speakers. Heads swivel in all directions in unison, everyone trying to get their first look, as if they're all wondering how they could have missed the giant beasts' approach.</p><p>But there's still no visual of them out the windows. Tony looks to Nita.</p><p>"That's a little welcome from our friends picked up by the remote mic," she tells them both, nearly glowing in anticipation. "Captain Rogers, it's been wonderful talking to you, but I—"</p><p>The whale song ducks out for a moment as a researcher makes an announcement on the loudspeaker. "Three minutes out, Dr. Prentiss."</p><p>"Of course," says Steve, nodding, both relieving her from continuing the conversation and reflecting her delight right back to her. "It was a pleasure meeting you."</p><p>Dr. Prentiss calls to Steve over her shoulder, exclaiming that the pleasure was all hers, and jog-walks up to the podium that's been setup for her near one of the centermost observation panes.</p><p>Steve beams.</p><p>"You loved that, didn't you?" Tony asks him, already knowing the answer.</p><p>"I really did." The man's dimples should be outlawed, Tony thinks, then remembers that they actually are, along with the rest of him.</p><p>A waiter wanders by, taking their empty glasses, and Tony cozies up to Steve, fitting a hand into the swoop of his lower back.</p><p>"My aspiring whale scientist." He doesn't even attempt to hide the fondness he feels. "Zoology is a good look on you. <em>Everything</em> is a good look on you," he amends.</p><p>Steve looks like he wants to return the compliment in flirty fashion, and, hell, they're going to get worked up all over again, aren't they? But before he can get a word out, gasps and murmurs rise from the opposite side of the room.</p><p>The whales. They're arriving. They're swimming straight toward the observation center, their pectoral fins gently wafting up and down in time with the propulsion of their tails. Even ten meters out, it's starting to become apparent just how massive they are. And yet, they're astonishingly graceful: they look like they're flying.</p><p>"Friends," Dr. Prentiss announces over the mic, "I'd like to introduce you to Gracie, George, and their daughter Sarah!"</p><p>There's a smattering of applause and a few whoops of joy, but most of the attendees, Tony and Steve among them, are quietly watching, eyes wide.</p><p>Another figure appears in the water, floating out from behind Gracie's immense form: Dr. Nu'val looks like some sort of sea nymph or other mythological being, her all white wet suit and pale skin contrasting the black of her swim fins and her chin length hair, which is currently bobbing in a halo around her face.</p><p>She swims closer to Gracie's head, just as the whale trio pauses a few meters out from the observation center windows, and places her hands about where Tony imagines a human's temple would be, a look of concentration spreading over her features.</p><p>The underwater microphone catches some stray bubbles from the breather, but Dr. Nu'val's words are clear enough. "Gracie has indicated that they are all pleased to be here once again."</p><p>Dr. Prentiss launches into an introductory speech, with some basic facts about the whales and how they came to be here.</p><p>Tony takes half a step backward and leans into Steve, his back to Steve's chest. </p><p>"I'm so glad we're here," he whispers.</p><p>Steve wraps his arms around Tony. Their height difference is just enough that Steve's lips align perfectly with the place Tony's earlobe meets his jaw.</p><p>"Me too." His lips brush Tony's ear tenderly. "I love you."</p><p>Tony never, ever gets tired of hearing that.</p><p>Through some agreement with Nu'val and Prentiss, the whales begin a slow circle around around the observation center, letting everyone there, no matter their spot in the room, get an up close lateral view of them, and, oh, it's stunning.</p><p>Tony knows maybe more than most about appreciating colossal things. (He chuckles silently to himself: he's not even making a dirty joke about Steve being, ahem, well-endowed for once.) Glimpsing a starship—<em>his</em> starship—for the first time in the last stages of her build out had been both thrilling and satisfying: seeing the sleek outlines of the body from a distance on approach, then taking in the millions of minute details when boarding her. The shiver he had gotten realizing he was a part of something special, something bigger than himself. He knows that feeling intimately.</p><p>This is nothing like that.</p><p>From their barnacled lower jaws to their scarred flanks, their striated underbellies to their swooping tails, the whales are completely unfamiliar to him. He would never, could never, design something like them. But their majesty is undeniable: the rocky contours of their fins like snowcapped mountains, the eponymous arcs of their backs like a rising sun. They are perfectly imperfect.</p><p>Over a dozen people are still blocking his view as the whales continue their lazy lap around, not quite having swum to where they are standing yet, and Tony is already mesmerized.</p><p>When he speaks again, he's not entirely sure why he says what he says.</p><p>He could have just responded to Steve belatedly and said "I love you, too."</p><p>He could have kept quiet—the silence of being overcome with awe would've certainly been an appropriate reaction.</p><p>Hell, he could have proposed marriage, and it would have been less surprising to him—to them both. Oh, it would have been dramatic and impromptu, perhaps, but that's not entirely out of character for Tony, if today is a day he's being honest with himself.</p><p>But what he says, leaning back against Steve even further, is: "Do you ever think about... uh... starting a... a 'pod'? You and me?"</p><p>Tony feels it immediately: Steve's entire body tenses, wire taught. His mouth drops open, brushing Tony's ear again. He doesn't let Tony go, but he doesn't say anything right away either.</p><p>"You mean... a family?" he clarifies finally.</p><p><em>Shit shit shit</em>. Tony's fucked this up. He's ruined the moment entirely. What an idiot he is, to spring this on Steve, right now of all times—fuck, why on earth did he <em>say that</em>—</p><p>Tony stammers, tries to pull away from Steve. "Never mind, I didn't—I—"</p><p>Steve is holding fast to him, but gently, as if letting Tony know he's wanted but not trapped. "Tony—"</p><p>Tony's stomach won't stop doing flip flops and something is balling up in his throat, that horrible tightness that usually only releases with tears. He gets some space between himself and Steve, starts to turn to face him.</p><p>And then suddenly, they're not alone.</p><p>Gracie is right there, just on the other side of the aluminum panel. Her dark eye is fixed on them, something calming in her gaze. She looks like a keeper of ancient secrets humans could never possibly comprehend. She's beautiful.</p><p>And the slight upward bend at the corner of her mouth makes it seem like she knows it, too. She's got a Mona Lisa smile—if the Mona Lisa was nearly 20 meters long and covered in blubber, anyway.</p><p>Tony's breathing slows and deepens. The panic spiral... stops.</p><p>It's going to be okay, he thinks.</p><p>Neither Steve nor Tony looks away from the mammoth creatures directly in front of them. But Tony reaches out two exploratory fingers in the general direction of Steve's hands. Steve clasps his whole hand in response.</p><p>Sarah swims by then, a little faster than her parents, and George drifts in after them.</p><p>Steve and Tony watch them in amazement as they pass, heads turning as the whales go, eyes locked onto them, until their tails are hidden behind the next lucky group of people waiting by the panel to their left.</p><p>The next few moments feel a little like coming back into the airlock after a space walk, like gravity's just returned.</p><p>"Wow," Steve says.</p><p>Tony nods. "Yeah."</p><p>Steve is grabbing up Tony's hands, then, looking him right in the eyes.</p><p>"I want to talk about what you said," he tells Tony, his tone as gentle and earnest as Tony's ever heard it. "Please. Let's discuss it. Tonight?"</p><p>"Sure," Tony agrees, and the knot in his throat is releasing. He squeezes Steve's hands. "Sounds good."</p><p>It's going to be okay. They're going to be okay.</p><p>"Although," Tony adds,  one brow arcing up, "I hope that's not the only thing we do tonight."</p><p>The whales are doing a second lap. Dr. Prentiss is opening the floor up for a Q&amp;A. Dr. Nu'val is about to begin speaking, by way of a mind meld, to George. The world moves on around them.</p><p>Steve grins and squeezes Tony's hands right back. "Oh, I didn't say that."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Steve is fucking Tony from behind the way he does everything: thoroughly, with decisiveness and precision—and achieving amazing results.</p><p>They're both kneeling facing the end of the bed, nestled together, Steve's front to Tony's back, as if spooning. Steve holds Tony upright, one hand curled possessively around Tony's hip, the other across Tony's chest. Tony's back arches in pleasure, his head lolling back onto Steve's shoulder now and then.</p><p>Steve's pace is quick and unwavering, his thick, lube-soaked cock driving deep into Tony at steady intervals. With every thrust, Tony can feel his own cock bobbing in front of him, can feel his ass jiggling obscenely. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Tony's eyes are closed, but the twisting shapes of light filtering in from the floor to ceiling windows of their underwater hotel suite dance over his eyelids. (They were on the waitlist for over a year for this place; If Tony was going to book them a sea-themed weekend, he was going to do it right. It's located just off the mainland, miles from Blue Point, but the effect is very much the same. Except, of course, with no other guests and no whales to peek in on them. Which is good, because what Steve's doing to Tony at the moment might, in fact, make even a whale blush.)</p><p>Tony's breath is coming quicker than the thrusts now, almost double time. He moans.</p><p>"That's good, Commander," Steve praises him in a deep register. "Very good."</p><p>Daubs of wet from the tip of Tony's cock rub on the sheets as he bounces. He wants <em>so</em> badly to touch himself. And Steve hasn't specifically said not to, not tonight. But Tony knows the sort of mood Steve's in, that they're both in. He knows the game they're playing. Neither of them has to say it out loud.</p><p>His toes flex into the mattress and his fingers curl into the flesh of his thighs in desperation. Which Steve notices. Of course he does.</p><p>"Do you need something, Commander?"</p><p>"Please," Tony grits out in response, his voice a little higher than he expected. He opens his eyes, but doesn't even try to focus on anything.</p><p>Steve chuckles in his ear: the haughty sound of a man with a plan. "Since you're being so good."</p><p>His rhythm is only broken for a moment as he reaches to the nightstand to his right to retrieve a cylindrical object, maybe 15 or so centimeters long, a handful of centimeters wide. It's made of a clear soft material, with metallic silver and black shapes suspended in it, glinting in the dim light: it's the pretty new stroker Steve had packed for them. Even as carefully as Steve is handling it, the rigor of their fucking jostles his grip on it, and lube dribbles out one end.</p><p>Tony's balls tighten at the sight of it.</p><p>"Is this what you want?" Steve asks almost distantly, as if he wasn't pounding away at Tony's asshole.</p><p>"Please, god, Steve," Tony begs again, suppressing a sob.</p><p>Steve pauses fucking him abruptly.</p><p>"Please, sir,” Tony amends quickly. Steve is such a bastard, fuck.</p><p>"Better."</p><p>Grasping at the base of Tony's shaft and gently angling it away from his body, Steve fits the open end of the stroker just over the tip of Tony's cockhead... and stops. Tony gasps: the lube is cold, sending a chill up his spine, and the slick, tight contact is amazing, but not nearly enough. He supposes there's a single solution to both those problems. The engineering portion of his brain, if it were even remotely functional right now, would like the efficiency of that.</p><p>“Go on, Commander," Steve urges him, his own hips unmoving. "Get to it."</p><p>Tony doesn't have to be told twice.</p><p>He cants his hips up and thrusts forward almost too quickly, slipping inside the sleeve as he slides halfway off of Steve's cock. Lube gushes noisily out of the sleeve, onto his balls and the sheets below. Then Steve squeezes, and all the metallic baubles inside the stroker rub up against Tony’s dick in the most fantastic ways. <em>Holy shit</em>. He makes a broken sound and shuts his eyes again.</p><p>Steve's freehand returns to Tony's hip, pulling him backward, filling him from behind, drawing him out of the sleeve. "Good," he praises Tony, his voice deep as the sea they’re surrounded by. “Again.”</p><p>Tony follows Steve's lead and repeats the movement, again and again, rocking forward into the sleeve, then back onto Steve's cock. Tears begin to form in Tony's eyes as he builds to a steady cadence: it feels unbelievable.</p><p>“Please,” he gasps out yet again, and he’s not even really sure what he’s begging for. And Steve, the unbelievable bastard that he is, calls him on it.</p><p>“What, bab—” Steve clears his throat, catches himself falling out of character. “What is it, Stark? What do you need?”</p><p>“I need…”</p><p>Tony opens his eyes on an upstroke, and through the prism of his own tears, a shoal of tiny silver fish gliding by the window look like stars as seen from the bridge of a ship coming out of warp.</p><p>“I need you to fill me up with your come,” he says as steadily as he’s able to. “Captain.”</p><p>Behind him, Tony hears a choked off little noise and feels Steve’s hips hitch up.</p><p><em>Heh.</em> Got him. If only for a second.</p><p>Steve wraps the arm not holding the stroker tight across Tony’s chest. “I can oblige you, I think,” he husks out, breathing heavily in Tony’s ear, “if you finish first.” He nips at Tony’s neck, hard, then snaps in a quick thrust. “Come on my cock, Stark. Now. I want to feel it.”</p><p>Legs sore, cheeks wet, gasping for air, Tony fucks hard into the sleeve in Steve’s fist, once, twice—and oh god, Steve’s massaging one of the beads in the stroker under his head, just how he likes, oh god—and he comes like he’s leaving his body, like he’s leaving the bounds of time and space: warp thirteen, blinding and beautiful.</p><p>Steve moans low like he always does when he’s about to come. Tony bears down on him with everything he’s got.</p><p>Steve’s shuddering climax ripples through Tony’s own body, a secondary wave of pleasure, almost too much to take in.</p><p>They both collapse on the bed, exhausted. Mere moments pass before strong arms yank Tony in, and he finds his face pressed into a sweat-sheened pec muscle that guards a rapidly beating heart.</p><p>“At ease, Commander.” Steve’s voice is a rasp. “God, I love you.”</p><p>“The feeling is mutual, sir.”</p><p>Never let it be said that Tony Stark ever does less than his best for his Captain.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once they can move again, they clean up and then immediately house two replicated cheese plates and an order of actual earth grown grapes from a farm just inland, in San Joaquin Valley (Steve swears he can taste the difference; he probably can).</p><p>They talk at length about the humpbacks, and what their favorite parts of the evening were. About how incredible it was, and how everyone back aboard the Avenger will be insanely jealous once their shore leave is over (Clint will pretend not to be impressed, they both agree, but he’ll actually be just as envious as the rest.)</p><p>Steve is clad in navy blue boxers and one of the hotel’s provided robes, sitting propped up against a small mountain of pillows. Tony’s head rests on one of Steve’s thighs. He is—not entirely surprisingly—still naked.</p><p>They’re starting a conversation about who some of the brightest and best are in this year’s graduating class at the Academy—Tony notes he met a particularly sharp young woman named Kamala who was eager to change the reputation of the name “Khan” during their last visit to campus. Bruno Carrelli, the guy she introduced as definitely-not-her-boyfriend, didn’t seem like a slouch in the science department either. Tony could easily see them as part of a new crop of ensigns. “Though Carelli would be Pym’s, probably, not mine,” Tony babbles on, popping another grape into his mouth.</p><p>“Mmm,” is Steve’s only reply, and when Tony glances up, he’s staring out the window.</p><p>There is a sea turtle passing by just then, but Tony is pretty sure that’s not what’s caught Steve’s attention. “Hey, what’s up?”</p><p>Steve looks down at Tony. He takes a deep breath in, and Tony’s stomach clenches. “I was wondering if we could talk about… the thing you brought up earlier tonight. About us, starting a ‘pod’.”</p><p>Oh. Kids at the Academy made him think of… yeah, Tony can see him making that connection. Damn. He thought he might get through the night scot-free, that he might not have to address the, uh, whale in the room, so to speak.</p><p>“We don’t have to.”</p><p>“We don’t,” Steve agrees gently. “Not right now, if you really don’t want to. But I was curious what made you think of it tonight.”</p><p>Tony sighs. “I... I saw a little girl there tonight with her parent, and I just… I don’t know.” He shrugs, his shoulder bumping Steve’s knee. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Do you… want to have kids?” Steve’s eyes are kind—he’s always kind to Tony, probably even when he shouldn’t be—but his face isn’t giving anything away one way or another.</p><p>“I don't know,” Tony says again, blowing out a long breath. It’s the truth, but Tony really hates things he doesn’t know, especially big important life things, things it seems like other people know so intrinsically.</p><p>“I don't think so,” he says after a long pause. “Probably not. Definitely not.” He nods, then feels his mouth twist to the side. “Probably definitely.” He chuckles at himself, at the absurdity of those words together, and Steve smiles at him, still very carefully not looking either hopeful or disappointed, Tony notices. “But…” He scrubs his hands over his face and grumbles in frustration.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Feeling chilly and exposed, Tony sits up and covers himself with the comforter. Steve raises an arm in invitation. Tony crashes into the pile of pillows beside him, cozying up next to him, looking anywhere but at Steve’s face.</p><p>“Look,” he barrels on, fidgeting with the sheets. “Three years ago, I’d have said anyone spreading rumors about me contemplating offspring was absolutely out of their mind, had had a little too much spring water on Psi 2000, you know? There was no way—<em>no way</em>—I would let myself be responsible for other adult human beings again, let alone a <em>kid</em>.”</p><p>“But now?”</p><p>“Now…” His hands fall still. He stares at them. “Do you remember what I said the day we met?” He stops himself before Steve can reply. “What am I talking about? I know you do.”</p><p>Steve squeezes Tony’s torso against his side; Tony can practically feel his smile. “Which part, specifically?”</p><p>“I said…I said, <em>maybe we could do this together</em> and <em>maybe we could be a team</em>.” Blood is rushing to his cheeks, his face is heating up. “I said it the day I met you, and it never stopped being true. Even when I thought you—”</p><p>Tony can’t quite bring himself to finish that sentence; he waves his hands, as if to wave away the past. He feels a kiss pressed against his hair.</p><p>“But all that said, I still don’t think... I want to have kids.” He sighs for what feels like maybe the fiftieth time in five minutes, then gets mad at himself for sighing. “You make me feel like I could, like <em>we</em> could. I’m just not sure if I want to.”</p><p>He finally looks back at Steve, holding his breath as he does; even after all this time together, there’s still some part of him that feels like he could ruin everything with Steve in the space of a moment. Like there’s a piece of him made of glass, liable to shatter at the slightest impact.</p><p>But Steve is still smiling at him, his eyes still kind.</p><p>“That’s okay. I understand that,” he says, as if Tony’s rambling monologue had been at all coherent. “And for the record, I don’t know about having kids either, right now.” His gaze drifts down, and he’s starting to look as lost as Tony just was. “I… I don’t think… biologically…” His mouth forms a line. “I have some concerns. And even adopting, or engaging a surrogate, I—” Steve forces a half smile. “I don’t know either, is the long and the short of it.”</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Tony feels like an idiot all over again. He hadn’t even thought, for some reason, about the ramifications of an Augment potentially passing on his DNA. And as much as they trusted Fury and the crew of the Avenger, anyone who knew Steve’s real identity and genetic status put him in danger. It was the kind of thing Steve could waive away easily enough when it was only himself at risk, but if he was discovered, who knows what the Federation might do? If he was, say, banished to another quadrant, and a child was involved—<em>his and Tony’s child</em>—even if they adopted—</p><p>“God, Steve, I’m sorry.” Tony covers his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said it—I just slipped up—”</p><p>“Hey!” Steve swivels around in the bed, placing himself in front of Tony bodily, prying Tony’s hands away. “Hey, Tony, look at me.”</p><p>Tony looks. God, Steve is beautiful. He loves Steve so much.</p><p>“You didn’t do a damn thing wrong,” Steve says, firm but kind. “You didn’t ‘slip up’, and even if you had, you’re allowed. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to work it out over time.” He holds both of Tony’s hands in his own, like he’s holding something precious to him, something rare and breathtaking. “I want to be there for you as you do. And I want you to be there for me.” He cups Tony’s face in his hand, and damn Steve, he’s about to put tears in Tony’s eyes again, and it’s for much more terrifying reasons this time.</p><p>“I don’t know everything right now either,” he tells Tony, not letting him look away. “But I do know I loved tonight. Every second, every word.  I wouldn’t change a thing, okay? And I know I’d like to do the whale part again next year, if we can. And the other parts—” there’s a lewd glimmer to  Steve’s stare, even as his ears are starting to go red, “—I know I’d like to do that again much sooner.”</p><p>Tony lets out a deeply held breath and nods, not trusting himself to say anything in return. Steve leans in and kisses him, first on the forehead, and then fully on the mouth, lingering there.</p><p>It’s Tony who finally breaks the kiss… with a yawn.</p><p>“All right,” Steve huffs a laugh, “Glad I finally wore you out. With talking, if nothing else.”</p><p>Tony opens his mouth to protest, and yawns a second time, all his energy suddenly just gone. So many emotions, so close to the surface, that’d do the trick. That, and, as Steve said, ‘the other parts’; he’s not a new Academy grad anymore after all.</p><p>“Yep, that’s it: time for some shut eye,” Steve confirms. He leaves Tony with one more peck on the lips before heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth, taking the lights in the bedroom down to five percent as he goes.</p><p>Next year, Steve had said. They would come back again next year. Steve loved him, Tony thought, the sound of the faucet lulling him further toward sleep. Steve loved him, and there was no mission—or conversation—they couldn’t face together. There's going to be a next year.</p><p>Tony arranges the pillows into something a little more suitable for sleeping, and slides down into the bedding to get cozy, suddenly not even sure he’ll be able to stay awake long enough for Steve to return. Even a year ago, he’d have forced his eyes open to confirm he wouldn’t be sleeping alone. Now, he knows Steve will come back. He knows it. </p><p>Next year.</p><p>Kelp twists and dances mesmerizingly outside the window, and Tony lies there, wondering how they’re going to top tonight twelve months from now.</p><p>“Steve,” he slurs, lids growing heavy. “Do you think Dr. Nu’val is interested in transwarp engines?”</p><p>“What?” Steve appears backlit in the bathroom doorway for a moment, shaking his head, before taking the bathroom lights down as well and crossing back to the bed to join Tony. </p><p>See? Steve’s back. Tony’s safe. Steve’s always going to come back to him.</p><p>“If we took her on the Avenger,” Tony asks drowsily, “do you think she’d let us <em>swim</em> with the whales next year?</p><p>“Say goodnight, Tony.”</p><p>“G’night, Tony,” he mumbles, and the last thing he remembers before letting sleep embrace him is the pillow shaking with Steve’s laughter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A couple of notes:</p><p>- I tried to pull Tony &amp; Steve's characterizations as much as possible from the original fic, including the flirting and the sex. They seemed happily switchy to me, so I went with it.</p><p>- This is probably very clear but I am not *nearly* as versed in Trek canon as Sineala. I spent a couple hours on Memory Alpha and did a Journey Home partial rewatch, but at a certain point, I winged it and I'm 99% sure I got some stuff wrong. I hope it doesn't affect your enjoyment of the fic.</p><p>- Funnily enough, apparently, <a href="https://georgegracie.wordpress.com/2009/04/02/goodnight-myth/">Grace Allen saying "Goodnight, Gracie" is a weird shared misremembrance</a>, like "play it again, Sam". And maybe Steve himself might know that, but I think Tony, especially a sleepy Tony, hundreds of years later, might not, and it felt like a better final line.</p><p>That's all. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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